Rome, NY

At night, the grumbling of frogs and toads and locusts
Something howls in the distance, variegating tones but never closer: tied or bound, probably, and pissed off
All stars blanket and planes arch across this needlework, making quiet fissures – something potent tamed in service of holidays to wherever Albany Airport even flies to

Not a single spider seen in the barn we rented, and few traces too of them having ever existed —
Martinis and a whole fried fish! —
But sheep pellets where they shouldn’t be

When the eclipse comes I feel made close to death, all venous blood,
And so melodramatic,
clammy and deeply in love with something big and awful:
I am not locked out of my life
but I am scared of giants and their love of snuffing